Eccles is blocked

It has become something of a matter of pride to be blocked on Twitter by George Galloway, Even Tom Chivers managed it by tweeting "booooooooooooooo" at him, which will probably even get him sued. George is a much-misunderstood fellow, who managed to make friends wherever he went, especially if it was Saddam Hussein's Baghdad or a Hamas knees-up. Not many people know that he is a talented cat-impersonator and an expert on forced marriage. Will he be re-elected as Respected MP for Bradford West? Well, that all depends on whether he captures the Jewish vote.

Most likely to say: "Many of my best friends are Israelis."

Still, I have managed to get blocked by many on Twitter in my time. The roll of honour includes another great hero of mine, Richard Dawkins, the distinguished zoologist, theologian, poet and moral philosopher. Originally an expert on chickens, he has now diversified his interested into selfish genes, blind watchmakers, and deluded gods. Professor Dawkins understands that to be a good scientist, you have to have a spiritual dimension to your life. He is a deeply sensitive man, who is anxious never to give offence. If he stood in Bradford West, he would certainly have many Muslims supporting him.

Most likely to say: "Of course, I'm probably wrong."

Many people will be surprised to know that I have been blocked by Professor Tina Beattie, the well-known professor of Money, Life and Health (or something like that). Tina is a Catholic after my own heart - well, after her own heart, actually - and from her I have learned many things about the Catholic faith that no priest or bishop would ever dare to tell me. Her ground-breaking God's Mother, Eve's Advocate, is probably the only book on theology that I could recommend to people who enjoyed Fifty Shades of Grey. O Tina, tell me it was just a misunderstanding!

Correction: I am not blocked. But I thought I was...

Most likely to say: "The important thing is to remain true to Catholic teaching."

Even more puzzling is my cold-shouldering by Damian Thompson, the Spectator's publisher for Religion, Society and Human Flourishing (or something like that). In the good old days of Telegraph blogs, when Friday night was sock-puppet night, we found that we had many common interests, such as Catholicism, custard, and the oeuvre of Gladys Mills. To add insult to injury, once the organ-grinder had spurned me, so did the monkey (Paul Priest), a man considered to be Corby's answer to James Joyce.

Most likely to say: "I think of Cardinal Murphy-O'Connor as my mentor."

And so it goes on. The Diocese of Lancaster blocked me after I constantly praised its bishop's tough line on bloggers. Stephen Fry was so embarrassed by my description of him as the cleverest man of this age or indeed any age, that he humbly blocked me. On the other hand, Catherine Pepinster, Polly Toynbee and Giles Fraser - people who provide me with much quiet amusement - still haven't blocked me, so perhaps there is some hope that they can be saved. Oh, and this man hasn't blocked me, either: indeed, quite the reverse!

Pope Francis writes a tweet inspired by Eccles's blog.

Living with Telegraph blogs: my week with a cult

Mark Templer writes:

Mark Templer, former head of the London Church of Christ.

I was recently invited to spend a week at Thompson Towers, the secret London headquarters of Telegraph blogs, a group so authoritarian that it has been accused of being a bullying cult.

The director of the cult, Damian Thompson, presides over a team of sinister people whose job it is to produce propaganda in order to win converts. I met some of these during my visit, but some operate from outside Headquarters: for example Mik "Bluebottle" Wright lives in a Dublin pub, where he bites passers-by in the ankle.

"Tis I, Brokenbottleboy. Waits for audience applause. Not a sausage."

Thompson himself writes propaganda, but, as he was at pains to admit, his intention was not to convert me, simply to bring Blog into my life. "Sometimes I write about Catholic issues: indeed, I have a contact in the Vatican who keeps me fed with the latest gossip - Pope Emeritus Benedict at death's door, Archbishop Mennini poisoned with polonium, Piero Marini to be named Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship, Arthur Roche to become Archbishop of Westminster, Jimmy Savile to be canonized - and I pass it on. Admittedly, most of what he says is false, but there's no holy smoke without fire, is there?"

Damian Thompson: "Mostly, however, I write about custard."

Some of the Telegraph bloggers are even weirder than Thompson. For example, I met a man they called simply "Delingpole", who spent all his time kicking kittens round the office, and his deadly enemy, an old fat man called "Lean" (evidently an alias), who told me that climate change would cause the polar ice-caps to catch fire and kill us all by 2015 unless we taxed cows, banned foreign holidays, and made it illegal to go to the toilet on Thursdays.

Every time you make a cup of tea a polar bear drowns.

It's been said that the Telegraph bloggers are predominantly Catholic, and that their propaganda is designed to brainwash readers into knocking on Vincent Nichols's door at 3 a.m. demanding to be saved. Far from it! Admittedly, there is Tim Stanley who sometimes writes on Catholic issues, and Cristina Odone who puts forward a variety of irregular opinions, pretending that they are Catholic, but that's about it. After all, there is also Tom Chivers, the token liberal atheist Guardian-reader, who has held a succession of meaningless job-titles, starting with "Assistant Brainwasher", then "Strategic Brainwashing Coordinator", and finally "Vice-Ferret and Brainwashing Executive".

Damian Thompson again, looking distinctly brainwashed.

So for a week I stayed in Thompson Towers, while the Telegraph staff watched old episodes of Are You Being Served? on a giant screen, occasionally taking time off to send each other funny cat pictures on Twitter, or even to churn out another 300 words to confuse their readers. In the end I left, still puzzled, but definitely unbrainwashed and with my sanity intact needle nardle noo f'tang ying-tong iddle I po. I need a lie down.

Rear: James Delingpole, Janet Daley, Toby Young.
Front: Damian Thompson, Jenny McCartney, Benedict Brogan.

Have you tried Eccles's Blogg? Aw, go on! Go on!

A special article in the Daily Telegraph from Damian Thompson.

Eccles has taught me all I know about custard.

Here’s some advice for Kieran Conry, Richard Dawkins, Iain Dale, and Stephen Fry. If you didn’t catch up with Eccles's blogg this week, don’t bother now. You’ll spoil your weekend. On the other hand, everyone else is in for a treat. Forget those tedious Telegraph blogs and read something with genuine spiritual nourishment. As Arthur Conan Doyle would say: Go on. Go on. Go on, go on, GO ON!!!!

Mary Riddell - a poor imitation of Eccles's Anti Moly.

Eccles is at the forefront of modern blogging - and opinion forming. He adopted Cardinal Ouellet as a papal candidate, and soon afterwards Cardinal Belgrano was elected Pope. He criticised Arthur Roche, and this led directly to his promotion to archbishop, with responsibility for closing churches in Rome. He praised Paul Inwood's innovative approach to "Vogon" music, and the old man was sent packing by Bishop Egan.

Star Wars, bagpipes, unicycles - back in fashion since Eccles posted this on Twitter.

Eccles has an ear for music that Van Gogh (and our own bloggers Stephen Hough and James MacMillan) could only envy. Who else would dare to help Christina Rossetti rewrite In the bleak midwinter?

It was quite a nice day,
Not too hot or cold,
They had lovely weather
In the days of old.

Tom Chivers - I gave him a job thinking that he'd write about jelly.

Of course, there are some Telegraph bloggers who are not overshadowed by Eccles. Young Michael "Mi" Wright, is our Tech blogger, who tweets as @brokenteacuplad, and so far Eccles has not yet turned his hand to technology. Also, we've got Gerald Warner, Ed West, Peter Mullen and David Lindsay. Oh, did we lose them? Well, never mind.

Moly (now retired) was a troll that I employed to drive up the hits on my blog.

Eccles is also relatively silent on environmental issues, whereas we have our great double act of Geoffrey Fat and James Upthepole, to tell us (a) the world will burst into flames next week unless we ban all motor cars (b) we're heading for a new Ice Age.

But in general the Telegraph blogs cannot compete with Eccles. His best line of the week? Out go Humanae Vitae and the other fuddy-duddy documents! In comes your own Episcopal Encyclical Fac Rem Tuam (or, since Latin is obviously not "cool", you may just say Do your own thing).

A fan of Eccles wonders why his Oyster card has stopped working.

Which isn't to say that Eccles is always being rude about people. His Eccles Bible Project has now reached the book of 1 Chronicles, and throws new light on the subject of Jizreel, Jishma, Jidbash, and their sister Hazlelponi. Scholars have said that it includes the definitive study of Hazlelponi.

If only Eccles would agree to write for the Telegraph blogs! But he already writes, under various pseudonyms, for the Tablet, Beano, Luton Budgie-Fanciers Gazette, Babes in Custard, and other scholarly publications, so he simply hasn't got the time!

The budgie-fanciers of Luton do not know how lucky they are!

Rent-a-troll

Hello, Damian. Speak later...

Many people only write blog posts when they have something interesting to say, and they are not too concerned with the number of hits they get. Others, however, are under contract to write 1000 words each week, and they lie awake at night worrying about their hit count.

Things are particularly bad at the Daily Telegraph, where the influx of a new generation of unreadable bloggers has made the blogs editor look very foolish. Some bloggers have been very successful - for example, cheeky Tom Chivers knows precisely what his largely conservative audience wants to hear, and writes exactly the opposite. Although he tries to give the impression that he spends his days discussing Che Guevara while drifting along in a cannabis-induced haze, the fact is that he is a stalwart of his local Conservative club; most days he takes the 7.53 from Surbiton, wearing a pin-striped suit and carrying a rolled-up umbrella.

Tom Chivers and his friends on their way to work.

Other bloggers recruited have been less successful. William Handsome, the etiquette correspondent, recently hit the scene with a fascinating post on "Should you blow your nose on your neighbour's sleeve in the Underground?" however, his follow-up post, "Dropping your trousers in church is only for Harrovians and other oiks," was rejected for being too Catholic.

A Harrovian is removed from the Brompton Oratory.

Which brings us to poor Damian Thompson, author of a book on addiction called Apologia Pro Vita Sua or, in the English translation, I'm sorry, I can't stop eating Ryvitas. Reduced to writing Saturday columns of ever-increasing fatuousness, he took the unusual step of hiring Phil Istine, a professional troll, in order to keep discussions going on his blog.

Phil Istine is a solitary man, whose main hobbies are snooker, drinking, and stealing underwear off people's washing lines. But he has a dazzling array of anti-Catholic sockpuppets, designed to provoke the traditional readership of the "Holy Smoke" blog into paroxysms of rage.

"I like to maintain an on-line presence," says Phil.

Among Phil's 100+ sockpuppets are such memorable characters as Phil, the lapsing Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Daryl, the faithful post-Vatican II Catholic, who hates traditionalism; Deborah, the liberal Anglican, who wants women bishops and hates traditionalism; Pau, the homosexual priest who stalks other posters and hates traditionalism; and Wendy, the lovestruck girl who wants to seduce a monk, but - and this is a neat touch - hates traditionalism.

Phil is of course immune from banning, as he is on the Telegraph payroll; moreover, anyone who criticises him or points out what he is doing is also banned. "I've had a good bag recently," boasts Phil. "Two Anglican priests, one retired schoolmaster, a young wife, and a Welsh anaesthetist. The more respected they are, the harder they fall!"

J.B. Priestley - banned because his writing put Damian's to shame.

Others who are immune to banning, as their witless remarks make Damian look good in comparison, are the notoriously senile Australian harridan "Anti Moly," or molybdenite (herself a skilled user of sockpuppets), and her sidekick MickyRoss the biologist, who recently pleaded guilty to 24 sample charges of mollusc-molesting.

But Damian's days are surely numbered, and, if so, then Phil will be looking for a new outlet for his trolling skills. If you can, please offer him a job on your blog.

Stockport bus station. Hang around here, and you'll soon find Phil.

The Da Mian Cod, and others

An excerpt from Dante Brown's new novel Infernal Cheek:

Renowned blood-crazed 50-something Telegraph blog supremo Damian Thompson was standing energetically in Berlin's famous Louvre Museum, at the heart of Piccadilly Square, admiring Michael Angelus's 1504 marble sculpture "David," which portrays the Arabian King David on the point of biting into a cupcake.

David. Note the cupcake in his left hand.

"Cupcakes," thought Damian pensively, meditating in a contemplative fashion on the highly addictive edible foodstuff, whereupon which he had written so movingly in his book on addiction, The Fix, which he himself had written. And this reminded him, it was the day on which the aforementioned memoir on addiction was to be published in paperback (his contacts at the heart of the publishing world had told him that this would be something like a hardback, only with softer covers).

The Fix, in new Hide-de-Vomit^(TM) yellow covers..

Damian had not blogged on addiction recently. His protège (a Latin word meaning "dogsbody"), slightly-renowned 30-something leftie atheist blogger Tom Chivers, had been promoted from his key job of assistant deputy strategic events supremo, a position in which he had been mainly responsible for making the tea, and was now allowed to write the occasional Telegraph column in the Saturday "moron" slot. This in turn freed up more chronological time for Damian, in which he could blog about religious matters from a Catholic - and sometimes papist - viewpoint.

Or - and here Damian crossed himself religiously, making a cross symbol familiar to all Christians since Pope Pius XII - there was another possibility. He could use his blog to plug his terrible book again!

---

Father Xylophone writes:

I had a great day today with a Texas military firing squad.

Father X joins the liturgical Firing Squad.

I was delighted when the Texas militia contacted me, saying that an army chaplain had been court-martialled and found guilty of three capital offences, namely, (i) being a liberal; (ii) reading the National Catholic Reporter (aka Fishwrap); and (iii) arguing with me on my blog. The penalty for these was execution by firing squad, and as a priest in good standing who understands the importance of a well-armed priesthood, I was delighted to assist. (Aim at the black cassock, and stain it red, as I always say.)

I had of course been practising my sharp-shooting beforehand, so as not to let the side down by missing the target: the colonel complimented us on the unerring way in which we exercised our liturgical duty, blasting the renegade priest to smithereens.

QUAERITUR: Should one aim for the head, or the heart? Generally, Cannon Law says that one should aim for the head from Advent to Easter, and otherwise aim for the heart.

Don't mess with Fr X, unless you want to end up like this.

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Ordain a Lassie!

A new video has been released by the campaign for the ordination of dogs, called Ordain a Lassie. We do not have space to discuss this in detail, but the campaign is based on the observation that in some churches dogs are already being allowed to act as altar-servers.

"Bark!" the Herald angels sing.

De weddin of Tom Chivvers

Tom Chivvers in his weddin graments

Anti Moly and me is still stayin at Castle Thopmson in Notting Hell, but we doesn't see much of our host Damain Thopmson, as he is lockin himself away in his studdy to work on his new book, de definitive boigraphy of Glayds Mills, de concert painist.

Damain is very fond of paino music, especailly de classics. De great Stehpen Huogh was round here recently playin a meldey of his favuoite concert pieces, such as "Where did you get dat hat?" (arranged by Rachnaminov) and "We wish you a merry Christmas," wiv de immortal lines about "We all likes figgy puddings," which was condenmed by Paul Inwood as bein thoelogically too complex for de modern Cathlic chruch.

Stephen Huogh

Anyway, Damain looked up from writin his definitive account of Glayds Mills's weight probblems, to tell us, "By de way, my colleageu Tom Chivvers is gettin married on Satturday." Anti Moly has got a bit of a crush on Tom Chivvers, because he is pollite, charmin and non-Cathlic, and she put down her gin bottle and fainted dellicately.

Damain went onto explain dat de lucky bride was called Pat, but, because Tom is in de forefront of libberal thinkin, and likes to shock de traditoinalists, he wasnt sure whevver it was a man or a woman.

When my dere Anti recovered, she decided dat she would emullate de story of young Lockenvar, wot is a Scots chap who interrupted a wedding to carry off de bride on his horse.

Young Lockenvar on a horse

Since Tom is an athiest, he wasnt gonna get married in a chruch, althuogh dere is chruches in Soho and de Plymuoth diocese dat will do same-sex marriages (we saw a card in a tellephone box, "Kinky Cathlic weddins, all tastes catered for. Ask for Farver Muriel"). Instead, he had hired de Allbert Hall, as dere was gonna be quite a lot of poeple attendin. He was gettin Stephen Hawkin to conduct de weddin, a proniment atheist wot knows all about big bangs; he has also been competin in de Parrylympics.

Anti aint gotta horse, so I suggested dat, bein Austrialan, she could ride to de Allbert Hall on a crocodile, or maybe have a cart pulled by a team of wombats. But in de end she managed to borrow a donkey, and rode off on her heroic missoin.

Old Molyvar on a donkey (note de bridal bouqeut)

Well, I went dere by more traditoinal means, gettin Dan Hannan, Damain's chuaffeur, to drive me to de Allbert Hall. He refussed to obey de "Keep Left" signs dat David Cameron has been puttin up everywhere, so we was nearly late.

As you can see from de pitcher bellow, de weddin was well attended. Is dat Edwina Curry in de photto bellow?

Tom Chivvers Weddin. De geusts is very happy.

Well I has been keepin you on tenterhocks, but now I can reveel de identtity of de blushin bride, Pat. Well, Tom he is wot dey calls a geek or a nerd, and it turns out dat PAT is a laptop computter (PAT is Personal Applied Technology). Dis explanes a certian cryptic remark dat Damain's butler, Will Heaven, made, when he told Muvver Odone de cook, "I saw Tom wiv PAT on his lap again." Tom got de idea from a flim of Walt Sidney, and I fink dis is what de Chivvers fambly will look like in 15 years from now.

Tom Chivvers fambly, 2027

When Anti Moly learnt dat her successfull rivall was a computter, she said "Dat's reely woful," and decided to cancel de elopment. So Tom's weddin went ahead as planned. I aint often sentimenttal on dis blogg, which is normally written to provide spiritaul nuorishment, but I do fink de happy couple is made for each uvver. Readin his blogg, I has sometimes even wondered whevver TOM is de name of a computter, as well. Thinking Opinion Machine, maybe.

A day in the life of Damain Thopmson

A blood-crazed ferret

I shudder into wakefulness as my alarm clock rings (today it plays my friend James MacMillan's cantata "The Lord smote Glasgow Rangers"). Giving my teddy-bear, Benedict, a quick hug, I leap out of bed and get dressed. Breakfast is a simple affair of cupcakes and coffee.

Telegraph cupcakes. Can you spot Cristina Odone, Tim Stanley and Ed West?

Of course on Sundays I omit breakfast and go straight to the Oratory to look for liberal and modernist tendencies in the Latin Mass, but on weekdays I go to Telegraph Towers where I hold the highly important job of Editor of Telegraph Blogs. This means that all the bloggers kow-tow to me, bring me cupcakes, and laugh at my jokes. The only person I have to fear is the Telegraph's Editor, Tony Gallagher, who is a West Ham United fan, and regularly says things like "I don't like your face, Thompson, you little squirt. Beat it!" But now I've stopped blogging on religious topics, he doesn't kick me so often.

One big happy family of bloggers

Like most journalists, I spend most of the morning reading the papers, insulting people on Twitter, and swapping silly jokes. But Friday is my big day, as I have to write a Saturday column for the Telegraph's distinguished readership of London lawyers and retired colonels. So I look for pictures of fat people with silly hair or strange clothes, and weave a hilarious (or as my brainy friend Tom Chivers says "an hilarious") narrative about them.

Arthur Roche, always good for a laugh

The lost sheep?

My Telegraph column also provides the material for a very witty blog. It attracts comments from the intellectual elite, who post under names like GI Joe, Mahatmacoatmabag, An Aussie Carrot, Chap With Wings, Molybdenite, Cutley in Florence, Ernest Chaussette, and The Great Stalin. Most of these names are real, but I suspect that one or two may be made up!

Well, the day draws on, and in the evening there are many options open to me. Sometimes I stand outside Victoria station selling copies of my new book The Fix to commuters. "Big issue!" I shout, as I think that addiction is indeed a big issue for all of us. Many commuters agree, and some are so impressed that they give me 50p, saying "Get yourself some tea, young man," without even taking a copy of my book.

Did I mention that I have written a book?

This is the book of which the great Clive James, writing in the prestigious Wallamaloo Possum-Breeder's Gazette said "Some wonderful books have been written on the subject of addiction. If you want something totally different, try this book instead." Praise indeed, I'm sure you'll agree!

Another thing I may do in the evening is go home to Notting Hill, and play one of my 50,000 CDs. I am a very cultured chap, and I have 94 recordings of James MacMillan's Orchestral Variations on Donald, where's yer troosers? Often I lie in my bath, playing games with my plastic duck, Donata, and singing along to James's immortal music.

Before I know it, it's 9 p.m. and time for bed. A quick anonymous phone call to one of my enemies (e.g. Austin Ivereigh or Johann Hari), with a burst of demonic laughter, and we've reached the end of a perfect day. Off to bed with my teddy-bear!

Good night, Damian!

Carry on Blogging

I'm scraping the barrel this week

by Damian Thompson

Where does Rowan Williams stand on gay marriage? He keeps giving out contradictory signals. Last week I went round to Lambeth Palace and asked him straight out "Are you in favour of gay marriage?" and he replied "That's sweet of you, Damian, but we can only ever be good friends." This is not the sort of moral leadership we expect.

It's in contrast with the Catholic Church. When I asked the Pope the same question, he threw a bucket of holy water over me and kicked me out of the Vatican. No messing about there!

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Paxman, not afraid to ask difficult questions

As Chloe Smith discovered this week, Jeremy Paxman is something of a blood-crazed ferret, and does not hesitate to ask badly-briefed girls difficult questions about government policy, such as "Do you ever think you are incompetent?" Of course he would never ask such a question of someone really useless who might fight back, such as a Prescott or an Osborne.

I met him recently in the showers at my health club, and asked him "Do you have the balls to take on a real heavyweight?" He hastily covered himself with a towel and ran away, but not before I had seen more than I wanted to.

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Vicar! Put thy clothes back on, we implore thee!

My colleague Tom Chivers has written a blog posting mocking the use of the words "Yes" and "No." These are the sort of words one associates with Jane Austen, and he is right to point out that in contemporary usage the forms "Yeah" and "Nah" are considered to be more correct. The sort of person who would say "Yes" is almost certainly an atheist or, worse, a Protestant.

I phoned up Rowan Williams and asked him "You would never say 'No,' would you?" and he replied "Damian, I told you, we can only be good friends." Sometimes his pronouncements are a little hard to understand.

Song from Twelfth Night

When that I was and a little tiny boy,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
A foolish thing was but a toy,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Or, as portrayed by the Seven Ages of Man...

---

When that I was but a little boy called Knowles,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
They found my childish essays full of holes,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When as a young man, known to all as Tim,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I told Obama what I thought of him,
For the rain it raineth every day.

Sir Henry Morton Stanley in Africa

---

Then as a young-ish nerd by name of Tom,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I split infinitives with great aplomb,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was but a balding chap called Dan,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I spoke and all the Europeans ran,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was an addiction-crazy Dame,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote six blogs essentially the same,
For the rain it raineth every day.

The Fix: How book-plugging is invading our lives and changing our world

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When that I was but an aged man called Norm,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
My trolls were lefties from the lower form,
For the rain it raineth every day.

---

When that I was but a basket-case called Lean,
With hey, ho, the wind and the rain,
I wrote no facts, just propaganda green,
For the rain it raineth every day.

A nuclear power station. (Are you sure you've got that right, Geoffrey?)